


Find Me Sitting Fireside

by kaistrex (weishen)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Stiles, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Magic Stiles, Oblivious Derek, Oblivious Stiles, POV Derek, Pining, Sharing a Bed, Snow, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-09-09 05:51:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8878444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weishen/pseuds/kaistrex
Summary: With the news that an Alpha wants Beacon Hills for their own, Derek and Stiles are forced to attend a couples retreat at a ski resort to learn their enemy's identity. However, the threat is the least of Derek's problems when he's expected to fake a relationship, share a bed and suffer through candlelit dinners with the man he's secretly been in love with for the past four years.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Find Me Sitting Poolside](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7640392) by [TroubleIWant](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TroubleIWant/pseuds/TroubleIWant). 



> Inspired by the wonderful Find Me Sitting Poolside by TroubleIWant! (I promise this isn't just a copy and paste with a setting change!) It's been a labour of love for the past two months so I hope you enjoy!

For the last three years, Beacon Hills hasn’t attracted so much as a breath of evil. As a result, when the pack start encouraging Derek to take a vacation out of the country to visit Cora, it doesn’t sound like such a bad idea.

Wrong.

He’s barely set his bags down in the loft after a thirteen-hour flight home when the pack tumble in after him with the news that a hostile omega had been caught scouting the area while he was away.

His eyes glaze over as Scott reports something about an Alpha wanting their territory and promising to make the omega pack in exchange for their help, inserting himself instead in a picture of sun, sea and sand. When Scott admits they don’t know the Alpha’s identity and the omega managed to escape, Derek tunes him out completely, thinking instead about Cora’s reminder that she always has a room open for him and how it’s beginning to sound more and more enticing. _Permanently_.

What’s so special about Beacon Hills anyway? Their dump of a town could get swallowed by the ocean and the world would be better for it. In the mellow afterglow still — barely — lingering from his vacation, he feels like throwing up his hands and saying “ _They can have it!_ ”

He manages to tune back in in time to hear the omega had at least imparted the information that they wouldn’t be able to reach the Alpha for at least two weeks because they were supposed to be attending some couples retreat at a ski resort, and then wonders why he bothered.

“A ski resort?” he asks, flatly. This is just getting ridiculous. “You managed to get that information, but not the Alpha’s identity?”

“We've already got a plan!” Scott exclaims before Derek can lecture them too much on their complacency.

Derek rolls his eyes and chooses to ignore him for the time being. “What about you?” he asks, turning to Stiles who’s so far been uncharacteristically quiet. “Didn't you pick up any vibes?” He has to refrain from holding up his hands and wiggling his fingers; the last time he’d done that, Stiles had mocked him for weeks. But it’s hardly his fault when Stiles can’t offer up much more of an explanation when it comes to his magic, his spark or whatever the hell else he calls it.

“I wasn't here either. The Robinson pack called in that favour, remember?”

Of course. It makes sense why the omega chose that moment to drop in, with both the Alpha and Emissary out of town.

Derek sinks heavily onto the nearest chair and crosses his arms to keep himself from rubbing at his throbbing temples. He suppresses a yawn, steeling himself for further ridiculousness, and waves Scott on. “So, what’s this ‘plan’?”

“Two of us attend the retreat!” Scott announces, so enthusiastic he sounds a step away from throwing up jazz hands.

“No.”

The pack all share nervous glances except for Lydia who narrows her eyes and purses her lips, and Stiles who clearly hasn’t been filled in either.

“Well, we kind of already booked it,” Kira reveals, sheepishly.

“Of course you did.” _As soon as he takes a vacation..._

“There was an offer last weekend where any reservation would get upgraded to a suite with a private outdoor hot tub for free and there were only two spaces left! We couldn’t wait!” Kira elaborates, buckling under Derek’s frosty stare.

Derek’s not sure how a private hot tub is supposed to aid in their search for an enemy Alpha, but it’s difficult to keep frowning when faced with Kira’s wide, innocent eyes.

“And which of you is going?” Derek asks, looking between the four couples present, the rest of whom have so far remained silent.

“Well, if there’s going to be a fight against an Alpha, we’ll need an Alpha of our own there, so that means you,” Scott informs him.

“I don’t have a significant other,” Derek says slowly, like he’s speaking to a small, confused child.

“Well, no. But neither does Stiles and he’s the best fighter, so if it comes to that, he should probably be there too. Especially if it’s just the two of you.”

He half-wishes Scott’s declaration that Stiles is the best fighter was still laughable, but with all the hairy situations (sadly, not just a figurative descriptor) Stiles’ magic has saved them from, no one is even disputing it. In fact, Derek’s pretty sure it’s his reputation that’s responsible for the quiet of the last three years.

A smug, close-mouthed smile stretches Stiles’ mouth wide until Scott’s words catch up to him. “Wait, what?”

“This way there’ll be no confusing of scents!” Scott squeaks, like he’s trying to stamp out the flames Stiles is dangling their friendship over.

The horror on Stiles’ face actually sort of stings. Long gone are the days of hostility from when Stiles was in high school, replaced instead by what Derek thinks of as a friendship. And anyway, Derek’s not sure what Stiles can argue against; the pack’s logic, for once in this entire conversation, is sound.

That doesn't stop him scowling at them. There are no secrets among wolves, so of course they know how he feels about Stiles, but he doesn't appreciate those feelings being treated with such disregard. A couples retreat just sounds like the spelling of _disaster_.

“Where exactly are we going for this?” he asks, resignation heavy in his voice.

Lydia straightens, retrieving some paperwork from her handbag. “It’s at Jackson Hole Resort in Wyoming—”

“Jackson’s _whats?_ I’m not going near any of Jackson’s holes!”

If that’s the only excuse Stiles can come up with, it seems he can’t fault the pack’s logic either.

Derek reaches down and digs out a dirty t-shirt from his bags still lying at his feet and tosses it at Stiles, socking him right in the face.

“Dude, what the fuck?” Stiles rages, pinching the offending garment between his thumb and forefinger and holding it at arm's length.

“If we're going to fool a hotel's worth of the supernatural we're a couple, we'll have to start now. Wear it to bed.”

“I’m not wearing your dirty laundry to bed!”

In the end, Derek relents and gives him some fresh clothes to keep wearing, and a week later, Derek can smell one of his vests Stiles has under his many, “I’m-a-fragile-human” layers where they huddle in the shuttle bus pulling up to their hotel.

Fresh snowfall crunches under his feet as he steps out and stares up at the lodge, taking in the log cabin vibe and foot of snow blanketing the roof like a frosted gingerbread house. Tall windows line the front of the building, looking into the lobby, and with the creeping darkness of late afternoon, he can imagine the hotel making a cosy picture when the sun sets, golden light spilling out of the windows and onto the snow.

Derek doesn't pause too long to soak in the view, eager to get inside ahead of the other guests and beat them to the check-in queue.

He lifts his luggage up the gritted, wide front steps one-handed, ignoring Stiles cursing and clunking up behind him even though he could be using the zigzagging slope beside them. The blast of warm air that greets him when he wheels his case through the automatic doors is welcome on his icy cheeks.

As he situates himself on the end of the queue — currently only two couples long — he looks around at the lobby, a stylishly rustic imitation of an expanded log cabin with a great cobblestone fireplace and the relaxing scent of fresh pine infusing the air for supernatural noses. It’s mostly hardwood flooring except for a strip of deep red carpeting — the only splash of colour aside the wood and stone — running from the reception desk to the wings where the rooms must be.

Plush brown leather armchairs and sofas are arranged in front of the crackling fire, some seating guests already unwinding with steaming drinks from the bar, making tentative conversation with each other. There’s a closed set of double doors to the left, a wooden sandwich board pinned with menus arranged outside revealing it must lead to the restaurant.

The tall windows behind offer a breathtaking view down the winding path they took up the mountain and Derek can only imagine how incredible it must look bathed in early morning light.

Stiles’ mouth is open as he steps alongside him, craning his neck to take it all in.

Derek’s heart jumps when Stiles turns to him with a bright-eyed grin.

“Perhaps this won’t be so bad after all.”

Derek grunts in a way he hopes Stiles will interpret as agreement but he has to turn away to hide how much the words have wounded him. Stiles has already made it quite clear this retreat — with Derek — is the last place he wants to be.

Despite being so near the front, queueing seems to take an age. Stiles doesn’t stop fidgeting, and after the third time he loses hold of his suitcase handle and it clatters to the floor, Derek snatches it out of his hands to hold it himself. Stiles beams and takes it as an opportunity to explore the lobby and Derek bites his lip to refrain from telling him not to wander far at the risk of sounding more like a parent fussing over his child than a boyfriend.

The couple in front finally step up to the counter and Derek shuffles forward. When Stiles comes back, he’s somehow managed to find some chocolate chip cookies — from a jar sat on the counter, he notes — and has one in each hand with a third dangling from his mouth.

“Hmm hng?” he asks around the cookie, holding one out to him.

“No thanks.”

Stiles shrugs and starts munching. The chocolate chips look a bit gooey, like they’ve not long been out the oven, and it’s something Stiles takes great pleasure in if his delighted moan is anything to go by. And Derek isn't the only one who notices.

The moustachioed man in front, an incubus, has turned to eye Stiles with dilating pupils, paying no heed to the squat woman he's with who’s busy chattering to the receptionist. His dark eyes almost smoulder like coals in a fire, nostrils flared as his chest swells with a deep inhale.

Stiles must be an incubus’ wet dream what with that ghost of low grade arousal that's been a part of his base scent since he was a teen and never went away even after college. Derek's surprised Stiles has never had trouble with one before — at least, that he’s heard of, though he doesn’t worry about it for long; Stiles knows how to take care of himself.

The incubus’ gaze doesn’t relent and Derek finds himself bristling, affronted the man could be so bold as to display such interest at a _couples retreat_ when Derek is clearly standing _right there_.

He reaches up and swipes away some crumbs sitting at the corner of Stiles’ lips, levelling the incubus with a challenging stare as he spreads his scent. Stiles’ cheek is still chilled beneath his thumb, still pink from just the brief walk up the front steps from the shuttle. The flush has spread along that ridiculous line of moles, from the corner of his mouth to just behind his ear, and Derek has lost count of how many times he’s imagined tracing with his finger, his lips, to that spot where his scent would be strongest, would-

“Earth to Derek!”

Derek scowls and faces forward again, glad the incubus has averted his eyes. “You're already drawing attention.”

Stiles whips round but the incubus and his partner move on, so Derek wheels both their suitcases up to the desk to escape giving an explanation.

“Welcome to Jackson Hole resort! Do you have a reservation?” asks the receptionist — Mandy — a werewolf with blonde, flyaway hair pulled into a ponytail.

“Hale. But it might be under Martin.”

He doesn’t like the way Mandy’s eyes widen before flickering to Stiles, bubbling with excitement. She taps a few keys on her keyboard and then turns to rifle through a pile of envelopes on the table behind her. When she finds the one she’s looking for, she slides it across the counter towards them, a sticker reading ‘Hale & Stilinski’ in block capitals on the front.

“We're delighted to have you join us, Alpha Hale, Emissary Stilinski! In this pack, you’ll find the retreat’s itinerary and timetables for scheduled trips and activities. Sign-ups for the activities will take place each morning here in the lobby, so give them a thorough look over and make sure to get up bright and early so you don’t miss out on those with limited availability! We’ve reserved a few private slopes for the occasion with no — uninformed — humans present, so we can all be ourselves!” she announces, giving Stiles a wink.

Lydia had said the owners of the lodge are werewolves but it’s usually open to all. Derek wonders how they hid the retreat advertising from any humans keen on the idea.

“We ask you to please note the second to last day of your stay will feature a romantic snow-in by a snow nymph on our staff, perfect for cosy cuddles by the fire! You were one of the first to book, so you’re on the ground floor along the corridor to your left with a private hot tub, room number 103,” she informs them, activating two key cards and slipping them into a paper wallet. “If you have any questions, you can dial 1 from the phone in your room or speak to us here at reception and we'll be happy to help!”

“So, say if we need any… _supplies_ ,” Stiles purrs, leaning on the counter and Mandy _giggles_.

Derek rolls his eyes, hooks his arm around Stiles’ neck in lieu of snagging him by the ear and drags him away.

“Hey, I just forgot my toothbrush!” Stiles squawks in explanation.

“Was it necessary to terrorise her?”

“Terrorise? She was eating it up with a goddamn spoon! And you better get used to it, big guy, if we wanna make this work,” Stiles reminds him, slapping him on the chest before spinning round to find the placard pointing in the direction of rooms 101 - 110.

Derek scowls but doesn’t answer and stomps up the corridor after him, the red carpet plush beneath his feet. He stabs a key card into the lock and flings open the door when the light flashes green, but he stills when he catches a glimpse inside. Stiles whistles beside him.

The walls have the same log cabin style as the rest of the lodge, along with a private hearth already merrily crackling away. He has a moment to wonder if that can be safe unattended until he breathes and catches the piquant, lightning-scent of magic, of Stiles. A flat screen TV is fixed to one wall, an elk’s head is mounted above the door and in front of the fire is a bear skin rug. Derek wouldn’t be surprised to learn the hotel's owners had made it a point of pride to hunt the animals themselves.

Stiles has already flung his backpack on the floor and is spinning around on the rug to take in every angle. “Huh. Could do without the wildlife, but, hot tub!” he exclaims, pressing himself against the glass door leading onto the patio to admire the view outside.

It's fully dark out now, so there isn’t a good view of the surrounding environment, but the hot tub is clearly lit by the patio lights switched on for their arrival.

Stiles turns to look at him over his shoulder with an impish grin and Derek’s stomach ties itself into knots.

In the centre of it all, studiously being ignored by the two of them, is one king size bed. A deep red throw blanket spans the foot of it and a towel folded into the shape of a wolf has been arranged in the centre, surrounded by rose petals and two chocolates.

No matter how hard he tries to look anywhere else, it’s like it’s being lit by a spotlight, reminding him that here he is, in a cosy, luxurious, romantic hotel room in the middle of snowy mountains, alone with Stiles, a thousand miles away from anyone who knows them. There could be no interruptions, no hurry, no one to hide it from.

He tries to distract himself by wondering what towel sculptures the other, non-werewolf guests might have, but then he reaches the incubus and finds that doesn’t really help matters.

With the room explored and a few of their layers shrugged off, Derek begins pulling his clothes from his case and hanging them in the spacious wardrobe beside the bathroom while Stiles clears a space on the bed. He empties the pack they were given onto the sheets, tossing aside the page detailing their booking, and starts sifting through the rest of the sheets.

“There are even talks at this thing?” he asks in surprise, scanning a lilac sheet of paper, eyebrows raised. “‘Moonwalking — Involving your mate in full moon runs.’ ‘Not a problem! — Learning to please your werewolf ma-’” Stiles cuts himself off, choking on a sound somewhere between humoured and horrified.

“Let me guess,” Derek begins, dryly, leaning back to peer around the wardrobe door at a red-faced Stiles. “There's a ‘K’ in there somewhere?”

Stiles clears his throat. “Anyway!” He tosses the sheet of paper aside.

The next page is light blue and Stiles starts to read aloud the activities they can sign up for, along with the availability and time slots: snowshoeing, full- or half-day snowmobile tours, sleigh rides, a spa, a couples cooking class. Derek’s not sure why anyone would bother travelling all that way just to do some cooking, but Stiles points out how some people might find standing around a cosy oven while it snows outside romantic, especially if snow isn’t something they get usually. Derek can’t tell if Stiles is speaking from his own desires.

Skiing is open to everyone, no restriction on availability but-

“We’re not going skiing.”

“You’ve made that _quite_ clear,” Stiles grumbles, referring to their emphatic arguments leading up to the trip in which Derek had point blank refused to be responsible for him breaking his neck. The fact that Stiles had eventually given in to his reasoning said everything about his supernatural ability to be a klutz.

“We should probably wait to decide which activities to take part in once we know if any-” Stiles pauses and then there’s a crackle of electricity in Derek’s nostrils, evidence Stiles just soundproofed the room. “-once we know if any Alphas are taking part. Most of them will probably want to go skiing at some point, so we can at least use the tram to go up the mountain. But there’s no way I’m missing out on making use of the spa while we’re here.” He flops back on the mattress and stretches, groaning and arching his back.

Derek’s mouth goes dry, not sure how he’ll be expected to cope with Stiles in nothing but a robe, or just a towel over his hips while someone rubs oil into his naked skin, imagining what sort of unabashed sounds he might make. “We’re not here for pleasure,” he reminds him, relaxing when Stiles agrees.

“Yeah, you’re right. We should pick the spa for the last day as a celebration for kicking the Alpha’s ass.” He hops up from the bed. “I’m just gonna use the bathroom, then we should think about hanging around in the lobby, get a good look at who else is at this thing.”

“Can you put this in there?” Derek asks, digging around in his case for his bag of toiletries. When he manages to extricate it, something flies out and lands at Stiles’ feet.

“Looks like we’ve got all the supplies we need,” Stiles quips as they both stare at the condom.

“It’s not mine,” Derek snaps. In fact, there’s a telling waft of _Erica_ in the air and she’s lucky she’s a thousand miles away or he’d be wringing her neck right about now. It explains why she'd been so gleeful when she said goodbye that morning.

Stiles holds up his hands. “Hey, I get it. Surrounded by your bump-in-the-night-brethren, makes sense you’d want to let the wolf out for a bit of-”

“That’s not-!”

“No judgement!” Stiles calls and shuts the bathroom door behind him, leaving Derek kneeling holding out his toiletries with the condom still sitting on the floor.

When Stiles emerges, he immediately announces how hungry he is and Derek is keen to join him in pretending what just happened, _didn’t_.

The restaurant doesn't open for dinner until six, leaving them with a half hour to kill, so Derek takes his time in the bathroom and then they're standing awkwardly outside their room.

Since kissing in public is out of the question, they’d decided a bit of handholding would be their acting limit, and now they have no suitcases or cookies for an excuse. Finally, Derek huffs and grabs one of Stiles’ hands in his, dragging him down the corridor as Stiles’ legs flail to catch up.

“It would help if we knew how many Alphas were actually coming to this thing,” Derek grumbles. They’ve been standing like wooden cutouts beside a potted plant for the past fifteen minutes and he’s beginning to think they’d be a more believable couple if they let go.

Stiles throws a lazy salute with his free hand.

“Leave it to me.”

He pulls himself free and saunters over to the reception desk where Mandy is still greeting guests, managing to cut in the line after she finishes with a couple using the excuse of just asking a quick question. She brightens when she sees him.

Derek tunes in as Stiles asks if he can get a toothbrush and as Mandy jots down his request, Stiles casually leans an elbow on the counter.

“Quite a turnout,” he observes.

“Oh yes, this is our most successful year yet!”

“Looks like we were lucky to get one of those private hot tubs,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows and Mandy giggles.

“Make sure you make the most of it with that Alpha of yours!” she whispers from around a conspiratorial hand beside her mouth.

Stiles grins. “I plan to.”

Derek grits his teeth. It's not even been an hour of their charade and he’s already on the verge of breaking something. But hearing Stiles talk so casually, playfully, about their non-existent relationship is difficult for him to take. He's ready to tune out of the conversation if it doesn’t change track soon, but then Stiles reaches the whole point of the pretence.

“Speaking of, how many Alphas are coming out for this?”

“We have four others, double last year's,” Mandy announces, proudly.

Typical. Double the suspects.

One of the first Alphas has just come through the sliding doors, chin length dark hair slicked back, and is waiting to check in with his werewolf mate. As Stiles saunters back over, he catches Derek's eye and points him out with a subtle tilt of his head. Derek nods, but then the restaurant doors open for business and Stiles stiffens, eyes bright and task forgotten.

Stiles is first inside and Derek hurries to catch up.

“Table for two?” the tattooed djinn waiter asks, innocently, already holding two menus.

Derek has to clench his fists to keep from reaching over and slitting his throat with them.

Stiles hooks their arms together. “How did you know?” he asks with a flutter of his eyelashes.

On second thought, maybe he'll slit his own throat.

Every table is laid out for two people, spindly-legged things Derek can already tell will barely be big enough to fit two plates. The lighting overhead is dimmed to allow for the ambience of the single lit candle in the centre of every table and the low music is something slow and sensual, and not for the last time, he asks himself what he's doing here.

Their knees knock beneath their table when they sit and the flickering candle is an immediate annoyance, but it’s making Stiles’ eyes do that thing where the ring of amber glints gold, molten under the wavering flame and the glitter of his amusement, so Derek refrains from blowing it out.

“Isn’t this _romantic_ , honeybun?”

Derek glowers because his thoughts were reflecting exactly that, but Stiles takes it as irritation and he’s treated to his bright laughter.

With their drinks ordered, they take their time perusing the menu, waiting as the room slowly fills with more guests. Surrounded by supernatural hearing, there's not much of a chance to discuss their ulterior motive, and with his back to most of the room, he has to rely on his ears and the occasional glance, ready to file away anything of note.

Instead, their conversation turns to Derek’s trip to visit Cora which he hasn’t had a chance to tell Stiles about what with the news of the enemy Alpha sprung on him as soon as he got home.

Most of the guests for the retreat are werewolves, with the occasional second half of a couple being human or fae or another werecreature. The only ones that aren’t are the incubus and human from earlier and a siren couple in the corner, speaking in hushed, melodious voices.

They drag out their meal for as long as possible in an attempt to piece together the identity of every Alpha attending the retreat, suffering through a shared dessert obnoxiously piled with cream and candied rose petals and even opting for coffee after. When they finally call it a night, they’ve only identified two of the four Alphas but Stiles is looking pleasantly loose and heavy-lidded after his Irish coffee.

Back in their room, Stiles’ magic crackles in his nose as he soundproofs it, and Derek recounts the info he’d managed to pick up with his ears as they get ready for bed, leaving the bathroom door ajar to talk.

He sits on the bed to unlace his boots, pausing to count the information off on his fingers while Stiles runs the water, starting with the Alpha queueing to check in while they waited for the restaurant to open.

“The Alpha by the door to the kitchen is called Emilio and I heard his mate complaining her pizza wasn’t as good as back home in New York.”

“Snob,” Stiles garbles around a mouthful of toothpaste. Derek hears him spit it out. “What about the slimy one in the corner?”

“I didn’t get his name. His mate just kept calling him ‘baby’, but she did tell the couple next to them they’re from somewhere near Seattle.”

“Uck. I didn’t like him. He smiled too much. Slimy McSlimerson.”

McSlimerson had shown too many teeth, but that wasn't enough to set off Derek's alarm bells. He hadn't felt anything concrete from either of them, but they had to remember two Alphas were still unaccounted for.

Stiles sends all the info to Scott so the pack can look into the Alphas to check for any territory problems that would prompt a need to relocate.

With that done, their teeth brushed and Stiles wearing one of Derek’s shirts — Derek trying not to think too much about the ease with which Stiles slipped it on, unprompted —  all their distractions end and the bed spans like a chasm between them.

After Derek had encouraged Stiles to wear his clothes, the pack had suggested they spoon when sharing a bed to maximise scent mixing like they'd been enjoying Derek’s torment, but it's an aspect he and Stiles haven't brought up since. Now, the time has come.

After a moment’s hesitation, Derek is first in but Stiles follows more slowly.

“Come on,” Derek orders, lifting the sheets for Stiles to move closer, aiming for perfunctory and actually feeling like he hit the mark.

“I want to be the big spoon,” Stiles complains and Derek huffs, rolling onto his other side to face the bathroom door.

“Whatever. Just get over here.”

Derek will never admit that he prefers being the little spoon. He just likes the press of warmth along his back, someone he trusts protecting him where he feels vulnerable.

Stiles’ heart pounds as he slings a tentative arm around his waist.

“Calm down,” Derek murmurs, almost slurs. He’s already feeling hazy with their scents mixing so intimately, the arousal that's always there and the magic that’s developed over the last few years. It’s woven itself into Stiles’ scent like there was always something missing and he can’t remember what he’d smelled like before, doesn’t care to. It takes seconds for their long day and the travelling to catch up to him and he drifts off holding the hand of the arm Stiles has wrapped around him.

*

In the morning, Derek wakes to an empty bed and no sound of Stiles anywhere in the room. He props himself up on his elbows, listening, but he doesn’t have much of a chance to worry when a heartbeat approaches the door and it opens to admit Stiles holding a plate laden with food.

“Where did you go?” Derek asks, voice still sleep-rough.

Stiles raises an eyebrow as he kicks the door shut behind him. “To breakfast. I wanted to be there early to see how quickly the activities filled up and to make sure we got in before the spaces went.” He puts the plate in Derek’s lap and Derek catches the scent of another of his vests under Stiles’ shirt.

“Why didn't you wake me?” Despite his annoyance, Derek is already licking his lips and salivating as he eyes the plate before him. It’s piled high, a masterwork in balancing, croissants, toast, a banana, and he’s especially pleased to note the particular bias toward sausages and bacon. It’s also the closest he’s ever going to get to Stiles serving him a romantic breakfast in bed.

“Hey, I tried and just got an elbow to the spleen for my trouble.”

“And did you forget we're supposed to be a couple? How did that look, you eating breakfast by yourself?”

“I just told everyone I wore the big, bad Alpha out,” he explains with a wink.

Derek’s heart stutters; if only that were the case. “Everyone?”

“Well, that guy who checked in before us yesterday asked, but most of the room had a chuckle. Supernatural hearing, remember?” Stiles reminds him, reaching out to steal one of his croissants.

Derek scowls at the reminder of the incubus and slaps Stiles’ hand away but he manages to snag a strip of bacon instead. “Supernatural noses, remember?” he points out and Stiles chokes on his mouthful. Serves him right. “Anyway, he's an incubus, so stay away from him.”

When Stiles recovers, he’s red-cheeked. “Yeah, figured that out for myself thanks. Oh, I got you some strawberry jam too,” he announces, fishing two of the little plastic tubs out of his pocket. “I’ve already encountered a third Alpha, a woman. I don’t know what she’s doing for the day, but the two from last night have opted for the same activity, so hurry up. We need to be in the lobby in thirty. _Snowmobiling_ ,” he reveals, gleefully.

Derek wolfs (shut up, Stiles) down his food and then hops in the shower, trying not to focus too hard on the evidence of Stiles’ personal time lingering on the air from his own shower an hour ago. Trying, and failing. He’s just glad Stiles doesn’t have a supernatural nose — or ears.

While he gets dressed into his heavy boots and winter gear, Stiles fills his backpack with a bottle of water, snacks and his camera. Once Derek’s located his sunglasses and he’s reminded Stiles to put on some sunscreen, they head out to the lobby. They still have a few minutes before they’re due to leave, so Derek stops off at the restaurant still serving breakfast to grab himself a coffee in a takeaway cup. As soon as he’s back in the lobby, Stiles grabs him by the wrist.

“New suspect incoming,” Stiles breathes through barely open lips, looking like he's practicing for a future in ventriloquism. “New suspect. Incoming.”

“Derek Hale,” comes a woman's voice from his shoulder and he freezes, fighting a smile before he's even turned around.

“Alice Bennett,” he replies, solemnly, unable to hold back his smile any longer when the woman before him laughs like a windchime and wraps her arms around his middle, squeezing tighter than her short stature belies. Her blonde bob frames her round smiling face as she looks up at him. There are wrinkles around her eyes and mouth that weren't there when he last saw her, but it's a good look.

He holds his coffee away with one hand but hugs her back with the other. “You haven't aged a day.”

“Oh, you charmer,” she laughs, hitting him on the chest. “The same can't be said for you. Look at this!” she exclaims, patting his chest again — or, more specifically, the muscles there — in a more appreciative manner. “And this!” she adds, pointing at his beard. “You were just a boy!”

“Okay, Alice, that's enough,” another woman chimes in, wearily, though her own smile can still be heard. “Leave the poor boy alone.”

“But that's the point! He's a _man_ ,” Alice breathes, finally stepping back and allowing Derek a look at her mate.

“Hi, Derek,” Olivia greets, leaning down to give him a briefer but just as firm hug as her mate.

Dark in all the ways Alice is fair and human to her mate’s Alpha, the two of them have always made a formidable couple. It heartens Derek to learn they’re still together after so many years out of touch.

“It doesn’t sound like you’ve been having a good day.”

“Delayed flight,” she sighs. “We didn't get in until two this morning. Not really the way you want to start a relaxing getaway.”

Beside him, Stiles is aghast, turning his head like he’s watching a tennis match. Derek steels himself and wraps an arm around Stiles’ waist, tugging him close. “This is Stiles,” he introduces, and to Stiles he murmurs, “This is Alice and Olivia. Laura and I stayed with their pack in Arizona for a while.”

“And then never visited,” Alice accuses, though she doesn’t sound angry. “But we’ve kept track of news of you through the grapevine. We’ve been hearing good things. Though we _hadn’t_ heard you and your infamous Emissary were _involved_.” Her eyes are alight with that same flame Lydia gets when there’s gossip to be had.

Derek looks at Stiles who has immersed himself in the act and is looking back at him adoringly. It makes his heart clench and he stutters over his words, but he supposes it just adds some authenticity. “It’s— It’s new.”

“I never would have pegged you as a romantic,” Olivia observes with a mischievous smile.

“What Stiles wants, Stiles gets,” Derek teases and Stiles’ jaw drops.

“ _Excuse_ me? Who was the one getting all googly-eyed over the candlelit dinner last night?”

Derek can feel heat rising in his cheeks, can feel his ears burning, and Alice and Olivia have started giggling. He’s not sure if Stiles’ accusation is coming from his uncanny ability to always hit the nail on the head or if it’s because Derek was being so obvious. He prays it’s the former.

“Well, honey, we’d better get going if we don’t want to be left behind,” Stiles says, gesturing outside to the other couples gathering in front of a coach. “It was nice meeting you both.”

Alice returns the sentiment. “I'm sure we'll be seeing more of each other while we're here.”

Derek says his goodbyes but before he can get far, Alice calls out to him.

“Derek?”

Stiles looks back too but Alice speaks too low for human ears.

“I’m happy for you. You deserve it.”

A reflex _thank you_ disintegrates on Derek’s tongue, unable to voice it before her sincerity. He offers a tight smile instead and turns away.

“Suspect. Number. One,” Stiles whispers as they move towards the front doors and Derek rolls his eyes.

“It’s not her.”

“She admitted to keeping track of you!” Stiles hisses in his ear.

“It's _not her_.”

“Yeah, well, you don't have the best track record when it comes to beautiful women, so you'll excuse me if I remain sceptical.”

“I never slept with her, so don't worry, we're safe from the curse,” Derek growls, dumping his half-finished coffee in a nearby trash can and stalking out the front door of the lodge, his fury blinding him from the view down the mountain he’d been so eager to see.

Stiles races to catch up. “Okay, I'm sorry, alright? But you know me, suspicious of everyone.”

Derek thrusts his hands in his pockets, hunching his shoulders. His frustration relents after a deep breath. “I know. It's not exactly a bad philosophy to live by.”

Stiles hooks an arm through one of Derek’s and squeezes, staying linked while they wait to register and get on the bus. It feels more natural than the hand-holding, getting jostled as Stiles bounces on his toes with excitement and nudges him exaggeratedly with subtle head nods in the direction of McSlimerson and Emilio with their mates.

Derek remains subdued all the way through the coach journey and he lets the chatter of the four other couples wash over him as they get kitted out. He's already wearing a pair of heavy boots, so he declines a different pair, but pulls the offered snowsuit over his clothes and picks up gloves and a helmet, trying not to wrinkle his nose at the scents of the countless other people who've used them before.

When they get on the snowmobiles — two per vehicle because it’s ‘romantic’ — they resort to rock, paper, scissors to decide who drives first and Stiles scowls and huffs about his loss until he discovers the snowmobiles have heated seats. Derek tries to ignore the contented humming in his ear.

After a quick lesson on how to drive, they head out onto the trail following their werewolf guide and Derek finally starts relaxing. Though he'd rather be running on all fours than on a vehicle, being out in the vast wilderness still does wonders for his scrambled mind.

He finds himself tuning out any chatter and the thrum of the snowmobiles, forgetting their reason for being there and focusing instead on the minimalism of the wind whistling through branches, the far-off cry of a bald eagle, the untouched snow surrounding them. It centres him, strips away the stress of the new threat they face, the torture of his time with Stiles, Stiles’ earlier accusation.

As they progress, they pass a herd of bison, then elk, and at one point he catches a glimpse of what must be the eagle he'd heard wheeling in the distance.

They stop a few times for photo opportunities where Stiles obnoxiously orders him to smile, and at one point, McSlimerson’s wife, call-me-Emma, gets everyone to pose for a picture together while their guide takes it. Derek is surprised to have a brief moment of bonding with Emilio, trading wry smiles when they notice they're both ducking to the back of the crowd of couples to avoid the photo.

With the journey to and from the starting point, they’re only out on the trail for two hours to make sure they’re back for lunch, but when they step off the bus back at the hotel, Derek is feeling thoroughly cleansed. His lighter mood must be visible, because Stiles bumps their shoulders and smiles as they head to the bar for food.

Despite not being on their feet, the trip was hungry work, and a grilled cheese sandwich with bacon hits just the spot, while Stiles gets a burger which looks just as good. They both roll their eyes at the ridiculous wooden boards their food turns up on instead of plates, but that’s the only complaint. Derek washes his meal down with some steaming spiced apple juice infused with caramel, a cinnamon stick bobbing on the surface. Stiles wrinkles his nose as Derek licks off the cinnamon stick, cradling his Americano in two hands.

The afternoon has been left open for a few of the talks that Derek would rather not attend if he can help it, but they camp out on one of the sofas under the pretence of relaxing while they finish off their drinks to see where the Alphas are going.

While they wait, Derek heads to the toilets, and when he comes back, Stiles is surrounded, entertaining a small group of mostly weres, though that incubus has made a return, still looking hungry. Stiles’ reputation as an Emissary clearly precedes him, as Alice had said.

As Derek gravitates towards him, he sees a hotel employee refilling the cookie jar on the reception desk so he makes a detour, snagging one, still warm, before looming at Stiles’ shoulder and holding it out for him to take. Stiles’ eyes light up, never mind that he’s just eaten lunch, and Derek takes ridiculous, wolfish pride in providing where the other wolves didn’t, even though he knows they're not necessarily pursuing Stiles over any romantic intentions. He’d be a coveted addition to any pack, and though he’s not worried Stiles would ever accept someone else’s offer — not when his dad is in Beacon Hills — he still feels a surge of jealousy, a need to mark what’s his. What he _wishes_ was his, he reminds himself. He can't let himself forget that.

The crowd thins out at his presence, leaving only two straight couples. The women, one human, one a wolf, have a hold of each of Stiles’ arms.

“We can guess which talk you'll be attending,” the human says to Stiles and Derek can guess which one they assume from the way her eyes flicker to him, looking him up and down.

Stiles laughs, bright and wicked. “I don't need a class,” he deflects, throwing Derek a wink for good measure.

The women start to drag him in the direction of the hall where the talks are being held and Stiles’ face falls.

“Then you can impart some of your expertise!” the wolf announces and they both cackle eagerly.

Stiles turns to him over his shoulder but Derek just shrugs at his horrified, pleading stare.

“Have fun, honey,” he calls, the mates of the women chuckling as they watch them go. Though it's gratifying to see Stiles’ despair, he might be able to use the situation to get to know the Alpha suspects’ mates. Maybe he’ll find a clue looking at their other halves.

After hearing the story of Stiles’ circumcision essay, Derek is sure he will have done plenty of research on werewolf anatomy. He'll get by.

*

Stiles finds him when he’s finished, relaxing in the heated infinity pool on the hotel roof.

“At least _someone_ was doing work,” he accuses.

Derek gives him a flat look and waits for him to cast out whatever magic senses it is he uses to pick up on supernatural beings. He stiffens and half turns his head in the direction of McSlimerson — who Derek has since found out is called Bob — at the other end of the pool with call-me-Emma.

“Oh. Fine, I’ll let you off. Anything?”

“Nope. You?”

“Nope.”

“How was the talk? Did you dazzle with your _expertise?_ ” Derek teases.

“We’re never speaking of it,” Stiles declares and Derek smirks but it soon becomes a filthy glare when Stiles thinks it’s appropriate to flick water in his eyes.

Peace over.

Certain he’s wasting his time on McSlimerson — _Bob_ — he climbs out of the pool into the chill mountain air, surprised when the Alpha raises a hand in farewell. Stiles misses it because he’s handing Derek a towel with averted eyes, but Derek returns it with a nod and then they go back to their room so he can have a quick shower to wash off the chlorine before dinner.

“Did he really not do anything suspicious?” Stiles asks from the bathroom doorway, throwing up a soundproof ward. “ _Anything?_ ”

Derek can tell Stiles is getting desperate. He, too, is a little unnerved by their lack of progress, the unknown identity of the missing Alpha, but Derek would put money on McSlimerson — _Bob_ — being innocent.

“The guy sat in the pool with his mate for an entire hour, no elevated heartrate, not a single lie, just made some small talk about the snowmobile trip, commented on the view and then left me to my business. I’m pretty sure we can cross him off our list.”

Stiles frowns but Derek holds up a hand before he can answer. “I know, I know. Suspicious of everyone. But I’m going to have to go with my gut,” he shrugs.

Stiles grumbles but leaves him to his shower.

When he comes out of the bathroom, Stiles jumps and hides his phone under his pillow.

Derek raises an eyebrow that asks ‘ _In what world was that stealthy?_ ’ and Stiles huffs.

“The story checks out. About the delayed flight,” he admits, begrudgingly.

Derek rolls his eyes. “It’s not her.”

“I’m not ruling them out yet,” Stiles mutters but Derek doesn’t comment; he’ll see he’s wasting his time on them eventually.

The mellow atmosphere at dinner is welcome after the stresses of the day, and he finds himself looking forward to climbing into bed with Stiles pressed against him, to getting as good a night’s rest. Stiles must be thinking about sleep too because he doesn’t insist on staying when Derek declines coffee after.

When they get back to their room for the night, Derek collapses face down on the bed, searching subconsciously with his nose for their combined scent soaked into the sheets. He frowns when he realises the maids must have changed them.

Stiles takes his opportunity in the bathroom first and Derek doesn’t move even when he comes out. It’s not until the patio door slides open that Derek even lifts his head, and when he spots him in nothing but a pair of trunks, he gapes.

Stiles is lifting back the hot tub cover by the time Derek manages to scramble to his feet, and he hovers in the doorway, gritting his teeth as Stiles sinks into the steaming water with a drawn-out moan of bliss.

Derek grits his teeth. “We’re supposed to be working.”

“Who says you can’t mix business with pleasure?” Stiles asks, voice breathy as he spreads his arms along the sides of the tub, showing off his shoulders — _his shoulders_ — and more moles scattered across his back. Derek has to let go of the door frame he’s starting to squeeze so he doesn’t claw gouges in the wood.

Stiles leans his head back and shuts his eyes as he continues. “And anyway, you can’t tell me your dip in the pool earlier was just you taking one for the team.” He tips his head back further so he’s looking at him upside down and Derek hopes the perspective will hide how flustered he must look. “Are you gonna join me or not?”

Derek tries to imagine sinking into the water beside him to relax without thinking about swinging his leg over to straddle his hips, or what might happen if Stiles decided to do the straddling, like in any movie scene with a hot tub ever. It won’t end well.

“Not. I’m going to bed.”

“But it’s only eight o’clock!” Stiles squawks.

Derek slides the patio door shut and locks himself in the bathroom.

He’s fine. Everything’s fine. He’ll just get ready for bed and Stiles will eventually join him and they’ll fall asleep together and then they’ve got— He nearly collapses when he realises it’s only the end of the first day and they’ve still got four until they're home. Three more days of handholding. Three more candlelit dinners. Three more nights in his arms.

He never wants to leave.

When he climbs into bed with his back to the patio, he can already feel the ghost of Stiles’ touch, knows it will be a long time until the memory of it fades. He just reminds himself to be glad it isn’t his own bed they had to share; he’s not sure he’d ever find the strength to change the sheets.

He turns off the light on his side of the bed but doesn’t sleep, not until Stiles comes inside thirty minutes later, finishes in the bathroom and climbs in behind him, radiating warmth.

“You’re such an old man,” Stiles grumbles, settling in with his arm around Derek’s waist.

Derek doesn’t answer despite Stiles knowing he’s still awake. Instead, he turns his thoughts to tomorrow. The first day is over. He just needs to keep his focus for the remainder of the trip and concentrate on finding that elusive final Alpha.

*

They don’t find the final Alpha.

Derek makes it to breakfast, they go on a sleigh ride through the National Elk Refuge, spend time in the town for lunch and Alice and Olivia drag them to cooking classes in the afternoon where they make heart-shaped gingerbread — which Stiles is only too gleeful to hand-feed him — but there’s no fifth Alpha to be found and tensions are starting to run high.

“It’s gotta be them, right?” Stiles asks when they climb into bed the next night without qualm, the action so domestic, Derek aches to be tossed into an alternate reality where it’s real.

“It is suspicious,” Derek agrees through a yawn, gripping Stiles’ hand where it rests over his stomach just like the other nights. “Can't you throw out your senses or whatever it is you do?”

Stiles holds his breath for a second and then lets it all out in a rush. “Wherever they are, their rooms are out of range. I can only sense two other Alphas.”

Derek wonders if the way he appears to Stiles is different from the other Alphas, if he'd be able to pick him out in a crowd like Derek would him by his scent. He almost asks, but he's not sure if it's considered inappropriate. Maybe he's just scared of the answer.

Stiles sighs, rustling the hairs at Derek's nape, and then his lips press against the back of Derek's neck. Derek stiffens and Stiles jerks back.

“That didn't happen!” Stiles squeaks. “It's been a long day! I was confused!”

“Go to sleep,” Derek cuts in softly, putting an end to Stiles’ protests.

Stiles quietens but his heart pounds just like that first night and Derek finds himself rubbing circles on the back of Stiles’ hand with his thumb as he falls asleep to dreams of the silken press of Stiles’ lips.

*

He’s jolted awake the next morning by Stiles leaping on the bed fully-clothed and shaking him.

“One of the Alphas cancelled!”

“Huhwha-?” Derek’s eyes are wide open from the shock of it but his gaze is still bleary and his claws are out, expecting Stiles’ outburst to be the precursor to an attack.

“The missing Alpha! He’s not here!”

His claws retract when Stiles’ words register that the threat is probably elsewhere and he sits up, the covers pooling in his lap where— where Stiles is now straddling his hips.

“Uh,” Stiles says as they stare at each other before scrambling back and off the bed to begin pacing on the rug.

“Just… start at the beginning,” Derek says around a yawn, scratching idly at his bare chest.

“I went down to breakfast to be there when it opened to see if the missing Alpha would finally show, but Mandy was at the front desk so I thought I’d stop wasting time and just ask. She said-”

“You just asked her straight out?” Derek clarifies, ready to lecture him on subtlety, but Stiles wrinkles his nose.

“What do you take me for? I have _tact._ Anyway, she said there’d been a cancellation last minute by one of the Alphas, a Mr. Jefferson. ‘Cause that’s not suspicious at all!”

“Could be our guy,” Derek responds, yawning again.

“I’ll text Scott.” Stiles fishes his phone out of his pocket while Derek burrows back under the covers, breathing deep of the heady scent cocooning him and slipping into a hazy doze. It’s only moments until Stiles is tugging on the covers.

“Come on. If you're awake, we may as well go to breakfast together.”

“‘M not awake,” Derek grunts.

Stiles pauses in their game of tug of war and Derek can hear the frown in his voice. “What’s wrong with you? You’ve practically been hibernating.”

Derek lets go of the covers in the hopes Stiles will get distracted by his victory to do much speculation. “Must be all this mountain air,” he mumbles.

Despite winning the battle of the duvet, Stiles’ jabbing doesn’t let up until he’s bullied Derek into the shower. He huddles under the cosy spray and must doze off because he’s sure it’s only seconds until Stiles is hammering on the door and telling him to hurry up.

Stiles doesn’t get a response from Scott until they’re halfway through breakfast.

“‘ _We're on it. Have fun’,_ ” Stiles reads aloud. “Is that it? Now what?”

“We can’t relax yet. It’s probably just a coincidence.”

McSlimerson — _Bob_ — is going on a half-day snowshoeing trip and with Stiles still adamant he's suspicious, Derek resigns himself to tagging along.

While everyone attending gets fitted with snowshoes, Derek hangs back and starts to take his clothes off instead, ignoring the other guests bemused glances while Stiles fondly — at least, Derek thinks it’s fond — rolls his eyes.

Assuming his wolf skin is like a release after stamping down on it during the snowmobile trip. He swishes his tail and stretches out his back, thrumming with energy as he waits for everyone to set off.

The trip is headed by a white-haired snow nymph who must be the one who’ll be responsible for the ‘romantic’ snow-in tomorrow. She doesn’t use snowshoes, her tread so light she leaves no marks in her wake, and Derek is glad she doesn’t try to stop him bounding ahead of the group or trotting from the path as he pleases — in fact, she seems to appreciate it.

He never wanders far from the group, from Stiles, even though he knows the other man is perfectly safe — though that doesn’t stop Stiles being a threat to himself. On more than one occasion he manages to trip into small snowdrifts and he laughs maniacally as Derek hauls him out with his teeth, eyes lit up and nose and cheeks glowing with the cold. For Derek, it’s a joy to finally use his thick coat in its intended environment.

When it’s over, it takes a bit of coaxing from Stiles to get him to change back, though he makes sure to huff as hard as possible to illustrate his displeasure before complying.

In the afternoon, their two suspects — Derek refuses to count Alice among their number — are spending the rest of the day skiing. They take the same tram up the mountain, but with the suspects zooming back down with them unable to follow, it makes it a fruitless endeavour. Instead, they take refuge from the cold in a cafe, but after an hour, Stiles is sat with his head resting on the table they’re camping out on, arms stretched out across the surface. He’s whining, trying to convince him they should just call it a day and go to the spa.

“No.” Derek would rather eat wolfsbane bullets. A robe, a towel, _lotion_. He doesn’t need to retread his reasons for avoiding the place. The memory of Stiles’ stint in the hot tub is enough of a deterrent.

Stiles growls his annoyance, sounding like a pitiful cub compared to the sound Derek can make. “Can we at least go sit in the hotel bar? This is pointless and I want whisky.”

That’s something Derek can get behind.

Stiles whoops when he relents, and when they're back in the hotel with no intention of leaving again for the day, Derek heads to their room to drop off their heavy coats while Stiles orders them drinks at the bar.

He gives Scott a call as he returns to the lobby to see if the pack have any news on the threat, but there’s no answer and he’s about to leave a message when he spots that goddamn incubus all but draping himself over Stiles’ lap where he’s sitting on a bar stool. Stiles is at least leaning away from him, back with his elbows on the bar, but the incubus isn’t taking the hint.

Derek huffs a breath out of his nose like a bull about to charge and storms across the lobby towards them. His field of vision narrows and those nearby must sense he’s on the warpath because the way ahead of him clears. He slams a hand on the bar between the two of them and snarls. The incubus leaps back but Stiles doesn’t even flinch. Instead, he’s radiating smugness directed at the incubus like he knew Derek was coming and he'd just been sitting back to watch the guy signing his death wish.

“ _Back off_.” Derek’s voice is layered with the Alpha rumble in his chest and it’s a wonder he managed words at all with his blood pounding in his ears to the rhythm _maimkillmine._

The incubus’ lip curls. “Perhaps you should learn to please him better. If he wasn't leaking his need all over the place-”

Stiles shrinks back into Derek's chest at the comment, his face twisting with disgust, while some of the onlookers outright gasp.

Derek doesn't handle it nearly so well. His vision pulses red — and not only because of his Alpha eyes. He wolfs out with a roar to rattle the window panes, sights set on the incubus’ throat, already able to feel the fragile give of flesh beneath his fangs.

The incubus at least has the sense to step back, but not far enough. Derek launches himself, but Stiles throws out his arm, knocking him back with the help of his spark.

“You’d better run,” Stiles warns the incubus, coolly, but the man scoffs.

“I think I can take a pea-brained, Alpha mutt.”

Every wolf present growls at the insult but before anyone can make a move, Stiles clicks his fingers.

The incubus shoots upward, back first, and is slammed into the ceiling, held by invisible manacles to his wrists and ankles.

“It’s not him you have to worry about.” His voice is deep and unearthly, a void sucking the light out of the room. It’s like an ice cube slipping into Derek’s stomach, reminding him of a time long past when that voice wasn’t Stiles’ own.

Stiles clicks his fingers again, even though Derek knows he doesn’t need to do anything with his hands to use his magic, just likes the dramatic flair it brings, and the incubus drops to the floor with a satisfying thud and bounce. It would take a lot more than that to do an incubus damage, but it was a display of his inconceivable power, and when the incubus lifts his head, there's fear in his eyes.

“You're still here?” Stiles asks, raising his hand again.

The incubus scrambles to his feet and bares his teeth as he backs away. When he's out of sight, Stiles turns back to the bar.

“I was handling it,” he sniffs, airily, like he's trying to make light of what just happened, but his gaze is lowered and there’s the heat that comes with humiliation in his cheeks. Derek is still trembling, vision dark around the edges, and words escape him. He’s barely holding back the instincts of the wolf. To scent and claim.

Derek's lack of answer has Stiles twisting round on his bar stool and easing Derek forward until he's between his spread knees. “Hey,” he whispers, cupping Derek’s cheek to turn his head to look at him, slipping his fingertips into his hair and scratching gently. He lets his eyelids flutter shut even though he knows if they were in private, Stiles’ sides would be splitting with laughter at his reaction. With their audience, he has to keep up the façade.

“I’m yours, Alpha,” he murmurs.

Derek jerks and has to hold back a whine. He wants to tell Stiles not to say things like that, wants to run and hide, but with Stiles so close, it’s so easy to lean forwards and bury his face in his neck. He breathes deep, takes in the faint element of his own scent that’s twined with Stiles’ from wearing Derek’s clothes and sharing a bed, and tries not to focus on how steady Stiles’ heart had beat as he spoke those words.

He swipes his cheek over that vulnerable part of him, layering his scent even while he knows he’ll want to replace it every time it fades, before it even has the chance.

They’re playing such a dangerous game and Stiles doesn’t even know it.

With the crowd clearing, Mandy hurries over from the reception desk, apologising profusely and babbling about the hotel’s zero-tolerance policy for harassment and discrimination and asking if there’s anything she can do for them. Most of her words go straight over Derek’s head and he’s only aware Stiles is speaking by the vibration of his throat against Derek’s cheek.

As the minutes pass and Derek starts to return to himself, panic builds over the way he’d reacted. Stiles may have been putting on a front for the audience, but Derek has no such excuse and he’s not sure Stiles will believe it if he later tries to play it off that way. Maybe he could say the tension of the threat they already face had him coiled tight, ready to defend a pack member over any insult. If he’s lucky, they’ll never speak of it and he won’t have to spin a believable excuse.

A little while later, Alice and Olivia trudge in from outside, brushing snow from their shoulders, the weather either well-timed or a sign that the snow-in is beginning. Alice immediately spots them, and their cheery faces wilt as they approach and take note of the cloudy mood. When Stiles fills them in, Olivia’s exaggerated shudder and Alice’s hiss of _filthy creatures_ tell them exactly what they think of the situation.

“I think we’ll go to dinner as soon as it opens and call it an early night,” Stiles finishes.

“Do you mind if we join you?” Alice asks. “We were hoping to get the chance before we leave.”

“Sounds good. Yeah, honey?” It's the first time Stiles has said it without his usual teasing lilt.

Derek just nods. He knows he won’t be very good company and the two women will at least be able to keep up with Stiles’ chatter. He just hopes Stiles didn’t agree just because of his suspicions.

Stiles smiles, small and private, and strokes his thumb over Derek’s cheek. He leans in and, for a moment, Derek thinks he’s about to kiss him until he changes course and kisses his forehead instead.

The women leave them to go and get ready, returning just before the doors to the restaurant open. Inside, they push two of the ridiculous tables together and the meal is bright with laughter and Stiles holding Derek's hand between courses. It would have been a lovely evening if the sour trace of the incubus wasn’t still lingering, if Derek could just get over himself.

But the wolf is confused, restless, wanting. It doesn’t understand that Stiles’ confession wasn’t a surrender of his heart, why Derek isn’t finally allowing it to claim. By the time the meal is over, he’s mentally drained and his eyelids are ready to droop.

When they’re back in their room for the night, Derek can feel Stiles’ studying gaze but he’s immeasurably grateful that he doesn’t say anything. They climb into bed and Derek manhandles Stiles onto his other side to make him be the little spoon.

“Hey!” Stiles yelps. “Okay, okay, I'm going! How about we use our words, big guy, huh?”

Derek doesn’t answer, just lets the darkness cloak them. The only thought running through his head as he lays there is _I never should have agreed to this_.

*

When Derek wakes the next morning, the room is still dark and the sheets are rustling where Stiles is inching out from under his arm. His feet pad softly over the rug and Derek watches as he cracks open the curtains to reveal snow piled three-quarters of the way up the patio door. Derek finds himself wondering what it might look like for guests on higher floors.

“Wow, they’re really serious about this snow-in,” Stiles murmurs to himself.

Derek props himself up on his elbows and Stiles glances over his shoulder at the shifting of the mattress.

“Morning,” Stiles greets tentatively.

“Morning,” Derek replies and Stiles smiles.

Worried Stiles might take the rediscovery of his voice as an opportunity to question him about the night before, he disappears into the bathroom. When he’s finished his business and scrounged the courage to emerge, Stiles is back on the bed, staring at his phone and chewing on a nail.

“I haven’t heard back from anyone since I text Scott yesterday morning about the missing Alpha,” he reveals in response to Derek’s raised eyebrow.

“I’m sure everything’s fine,” Derek says, opening the wardrobe to pick out clothes for the day.

“You seem to be forgetting what happened the last time we were both out of town,” Stiles reminds him, scrubbing both hands through his hair. “What if— What if that omega saying that Alpha would be here was the Alpha’s plan so they could attack when-”

“Stiles,” Derek interrupts, putting one knee on the mattress and reaching out to squeeze his shoulder. “They’re not helpless without us. If there was trouble, at least _someone_ would have found a way to contact us.”

Stiles nods, eyes fixed on the bedsheets pooled around his hips.

Derek sighs. “Your phone’s not having trouble finding a signal is it, being up on the mountain? Or it’s not something to do with this snow in?”

Stiles shakes his head. “I’ve got full bars. And if it was something magic, I’d know.”

“Then if you haven’t heard anything from anyone by lunchtime, we’ll leave early. Tell the hotel there’s an emergency or something. Okay? I’m pretty sure we’re wasting our time here anyway.”

Though it doesn’t alleviate the fears weighing in Stiles’ gaze entirely, he at least perks up, joining Derek in getting ready for breakfast.

Except, when they open their door out into the hallway, a gust of icy air rushes inside, so cold Derek is surprised there aren’t any icicles dangling from the light fixtures. He slams it shut again.

They really are trying to encourage snuggling by the fire.

“On second thought, let's order room service,” Stiles says, arms wrapped around himself.

Just that few seconds of open door has dropped the room temperature, so Derek starts the fire while Stiles flips to the menu in the hotel’s information book.

When their food arrives, Derek is at least glad to see Stiles still has an appetite, but once they’ve eaten and piled the trays by the door, he starts to pace. Derek doesn’t know how he’ll survive another four more hours of it.

“What are we supposed to do all day? Is it really either step out into the ice box or sit here doing nothing?” Stiles asks, upending their welcome packet on the bed and sifting through it for the activities page.

Derek refrains from mentioning what the other guests are doing or how it would look for them to sit at the hotel bar on a day where all the other couples are… coupling.

Their booking reference sheet gets tossed aside, landing in Derek’s lap. He’s about to screw it into a ball and amuse himself by aiming for the bin in the corner when something catches his eye.

According to their booking details, their room for the retreat was booked eight months ago, not the weekend before last.

Derek stares.

He can hear Kira protesting that they had to book it because it was a special offer for the weekend two weeks ago. Can hear Mandy as they checked in delighting that they got the hot tub for being one of the first to make a reservation.

His hands start to shake as he stares at the line detailing their payment for the trip came from ‘Miss L. Martin’ and he clenches his jaw on a roil of nausea as he tries not to think about what it could mean if his hunch is right.

He staggers to his feet and wrenches open the door, too numb to think of putting on a coat.

“What? What’s wrong?” Stiles asks, scrambling up behind him, but Derek doesn’t answer.

The hallway is deserted. When he sharpens his hearing, he can tell no one is currently manning the front desk, but someone is in the office behind it. He moves with silent steps and just prays they’re not listening for heartbeats, but then there's that electric crackle and he glances back at Stiles hovering outside their door who's cloaked him in silence. They share a nod and Derek proceeds, bolstered by Stiles’ faith in him.

He rounds the reception desk and doesn’t have to look hard. Slotted next to one of the computers is a lone envelope forgotten from the check-in with a sticker saying ‘Jefferson and Jefferson’.

He hurries back to their room with the soundproof energy still clinging like a bubble, striding inside ahead of Stiles who clicks the door shut and rounds on him.

“Are you going to tell me what the hell is going on?”

Derek shreds the envelope in his haste to get it open and Stiles peers over his shoulder as he picks up the front sheet and holds it next to theirs. Under payment on Mr. Jefferson’s, it reads ‘Mr. J Whittemore’.

Derek's knees start to tremble, but it takes Stiles a few moments longer to notice what Derek is getting at.

“But why-” Stiles looks like he has too many questions to decide which to ask first, but then his eyes widen and he puts a hand over his mouth, looking like he’s going to be sick.

Whatever question Stiles could have been about to ask, Derek is sure he’d have the answer.

There is no enemy Alpha. McSlimerson is innocent. Alice really had kept an eye on him only out of concern.

That's the real reason Erica had been so gleeful telling him to have fun as he went out the door. The reason for Scott and Kira — the best liars, the fox and the first wolf — doing all the talking. It was all just a ruse to— To what? To give Derek a chance to get Stiles alone and tell him how he feels? He's told the pack time and time again there's no way he's going to jeopardise their tentative friendship or the pack's balance, so why would they go ahead with something like that? Do they want him to humiliate himself? Because that can be the only outcome.

But Stiles’ face is frozen in a mask of horror and he's backing away like he's preparing to bolt, and Derek's stomach plummets. He must know, has known all this time. That's why he was so reluctant to come, why he'd eyed Scott with such betrayal. Now it’s out in the open and can’t be ignored any longer.

“I'm sorry!” Stiles squeaks.

And here it comes. The rejection he'd always hoped to avoid. Derek is so caught off guard by the turn of events, he has no time to brace himself for it.

“If I’d have known it wasn’t real, I never would have agreed to this!”

Sounds about right.

“I didn't want there to be any inconvenience!”

Er, _ouch?_ Derek actually rears back from that like he's been slapped. “Well, excuse my feelings for being such a burden,” he bites out through gritted teeth, the burn of humiliation swirling in his stomach. Perhaps it would have been better to confess, on his own terms and at a place of his own choosing. Somewhere he could actually run from. Anything would be better than this, than being trapped, than the way Stiles is staring at him, slack-jawed.

“ _Your_ feelings?” he breathes.

“Yes, _my_ feelings. I'm sorry if they've been such an ‘ _inconvenience’_ ,” he sneers, punctuating his sarcasm with near-violent finger quotes.

“But— But we're not talking about _your_ feelings! We're talking about _mine_ inconveniencing _you!_ ”

“Because you don't feel the same way, yes, I get it, thank you. Do we really need to keep-?”

“ _Derek!_ ” Stiles exclaims, eyes wild, frantic. “We're on the edge of something _really_ important right now, so will you please _stop talking and_ _listen for just one second?_ ”

Derek scoffs and crosses his arms to keep from putting a fist through a wall. “What? What else could you possibly have to say?”

“I don’t know, Derek,” Stiles begins, stepping forward to jab him in the chest with one long finger. There's a fire in his eyes, blazing brighter than the one in the hearth. “Why do you think I was so reluctant to come here? And if you say it’s because I didn't want to be here with you, I swear to God, I will singe off your eyebrows,” he threatens before Derek can even open his mouth, holding up his hand ready to click his fingers.

Derek flounders for a second, like he’s trying to find his footing on a boat on choppy sea. Is Stiles really saying…? “What was I supposed to think when you acted like Christmas had been cancelled?”

“ _You_ were the one scowling like Satan had pissed in your cereal!”

“Because you looked so offended that you were being forced to spend time alone with _me_!”

“I wasn’t offended! I was— I was scared,” he admits, deflating. “There was all this talk of wearing your clothes and sharing a bed and spooning and holding hands and pretending to be in love and— I knew I wouldn’t be pretending.”

Derek's vision swims, arms falling limp by his sides.

Stiles scrubs a hand over his face, not yet finished. “I could already see how obvious it was going to be. And when that demon said I’d been ‘leaking my need’ all over the place... _God_ , if he noticed, how could you not?”

Derek casts about for something to latch onto, sure this must just be part of the trick. “But... you’ve always smelled like...”

Stiles is back to his slack-jawed expression, but this time, he has upturned palms and Derek gets the feeling it’s because Stiles is wondering if he can be more unfathomably stupid.

“It’s— It’s not an exact science!” Derek tries to defend. “The first thing I was taught is it's a bad idea to make assumptions-”

But Stiles is crowding him back until the back of his knees hit the mattress, saying, “Just shut up and let me kiss you stupid already!”

Derek grabs him by the shoulders, holding him back with crumbling strength. “Me too, okay? To all of it. If you had my nose-”

“I would have connected the dots,” Stiles insists.

Derek doesn’t doubt it.

He stops resisting and Stiles leans in, but they both pause before they connect, drawing back slightly like one blink and it will all disappear. Derek thinks about finally getting what he’s always wanted and then seeing it snatched away at the last moment and fear grips him by the throat. He surges forward, Stiles tilting his head to meet him, and wraps his arms around him tightly, just _daring_ anyone to take this from him.

He already knew Stiles’ lips were soft from the kiss to the back of his neck the other night — _what else did he miss?_ — but it does nothing to prepare him for how plush and hot they feel against his. He licks into Stiles’ mouth, savouring the taste of him beneath honey and oatmeal, and Stiles chases his tongue as he withdraws. Derek welcomes him inside, sucking gently as Stiles makes a delicious mewling sound at the back of his throat that Derek greedily swallows.

Somehow without Derek noticing, Stiles has ended up beneath him on the bed and he takes his wrists and pins him down, growling into Stiles’ mouth as the other man arches and bucks. And then Derek is on his back, wrists above his head in Stiles’ grip, held in place by more than Stiles’ inferior human strength. There was no click of fingers but that lightning-scent has blossomed, weaving with his building arousal and overwhelming Derek’s senses. He knows his eyes are glowing.

Stiles sits back on his knees, panting, lips already red and swelling. “Two can play at that game,” he announces, releasing Derek’s wrists and dragging his palms down his arms to his chest where they rest over Derek’s pounding heart.

“Now,” Stiles starts, rocking his hips over the bulge in Derek’s jeans as his lips part in a lecherous grin. “How about that condom?”

*

An hour later, they lay on the rug in front of the fire cocooned in blankets. Stiles has his head on Derek’s chest, running his fingers through the hairs there.

“We deserved this, didn't we?” Stiles asks. “Being made fools of. I bet Lydia’s been losing her mind for years.”

Derek’s sure the pack could have come up with something simpler — and cheaper — than the wild goose chase they led them on, but being here, in front of the fire — no interruptions, no hurry, no one to hide it from — he wouldn’t trade it for anything. He’s so content he doesn’t even have the energy to answer.

“You going nonverbal on me again?” Stiles asks, lifting his head to gaze down at him with eyes soft and fond.

Derek’s mind is blank, content to see and touch and feel and smell without the volume of his thoughts drowning it out. He doesn’t want to think about what will happen when they get home, about where they might be if they’d reached this conclusion sooner, about what Stiles’ dad might say. He just wants to let himself have this.

“We’re still going to make them suffer though, okay?” Stiles continues, always happy to keep chattering on his own. “Like, we’ll pretend we found out which Alpha it was and beat them up nearly to the point of death, or something. Or that we had an argument that came to blows and our friendship is ruined forever. Let’s see how proud of themselves they are then.”

Derek snorts and Stiles smiles down at him, shyly biting his bottom lip as he averts his eyes to the fingers he’s walking up Derek’s chest.

“You know, we never did get to try out that spa. Or make the most of the hot tub,” he points out, leaning down to suck a bruise over Derek’s collarbone that fades as fast as he can make it. “What do you say to staying for a few more days?”

A kiss is all the answer Derek needs to give.

**Author's Note:**

> When they get back, they have no chance to carry out any of Stiles’ plans of torment because 1) They have no plausible explanation for extending their trip and 2) The out of control hickeys down Stiles’ neck (he may be able to make fire out of nothing but he doesn’t have the ability of supernatural healing). Instead, they force the pack to pay for them to go back next year in return for the deception and so they can make the most of it instead of spending their time running around after a non-existent Alpha. Alice and Olivia go back too, so they go on a lot of double dates and miss out on the activity sign-up most mornings because now they’re having all the sex and how can they be expected to get up so goddamn early? They end up being good friends with ~~McSlimerson~~ Bob who runs a shelter for the homeless and Stiles becomes certain the guy’s heart of gold would make angels weep.  
>  They’re in the spa every single afternoon and make out in the hot tub every single evening and one of the days, Derek even relents and allows Stiles to go skiing :)  
> Thanks for reading!  
> (I'd love to know who guessed it was fake! I probably wasn't as sneaky about it as I'd hoped...)
> 
> You can follow me [here](http://kaistrex.tumblr.com/) on tumblr!


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